


On This 8th Day of May

by titania522



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Katniss' Birthday, Post Epilogue, Post MJ, WWII, toastbabies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 19:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1659707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titania522/pseuds/titania522
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This year, Katniss learns from her daughter the many meanings of her birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On This 8th Day of May

**Author's Note:**

> I must dedicate this to my dear friend, Madamemarquise, who pointed out that Katniss’ birthday is the same day as the official end of WWII in Europe, sixty-nine years ago. It is completely coincidental that my Speak Your Language Day fic, Fireflies in the Dark, was set in WWII. What an extraordinary set of circumstances :).
> 
> So, Happy Birthday, Girl on Fire!

 

“Mom!” I called out, dropping my backpack on the shelf just inside the door and changing into my house slippers.  Dad had a thing about us walking inside the house with our shoes on and had ingrained the habit so deeply, it was automatic for me to take my shoes off the moment I crossed the threshold.

“I’m in here, Willow,” she said from the kitchen.

Mom was peeling potatoes for dinner, still wearing her hunting clothes. Even though she worked at the bakery most days with my dad, spring was her season and she took advantage of the warm weather to hunt and trade. I sometimes think it is the place where she is most herself.

“Why are you cooking?  It’s your birthday!” I said, taking the knife away from her.

“It’s no big deal.  I’m the same person I was yesterday,” she said but there was a smile in her voice that made my heart soar.  Mom always carried this cloud of sadness everywhere she went and even though I recently learned that neither my brother, Rye, nor I were responsible for her unhappiness, seeing her happy always felt like something I should be proud of.  My dad, on the other hand, was generally even-tempered and upbeat in character.  They seemed like complete opposites and yet they complimented each other completely. If Dad was energy and light, Mom was the planet around which he revolved – solid, heavy, with a powerful gravitational pull.

I took over where she left off while she uncovered the meat that was marinating in the metal baking pan. “I learned something really interesting in school today. Remember when I told you we were studying history from the Middle period?” Our textbook divided history into sections – Prehistory, Ancient History, Middle Period, The Dark Days, the Panem Period and the Post-Revolutionary or Modern Age.   We lived in the Post-Revolutionary Age, of course.  Even though we hadn’t gotten into the Panem Period at school, I knew all about my mother and father, the Hunger Games and the Revolution that ended them.  Mom didn’t like to talk about that but the moment I understood that the famous Mockingjay was my own mother, I read and researched everything I could about the topic.  It was one of the reasons history was of my favorite subject – not everyone had parents who were instrumental in changing the world.  But I didn’t share what I’d learned with them because I knew it would make my mother sad to talk about those things.

“I remember.” She responded warily.  At this point, my father walked into the kitchen carrying a white box and a brown paper bag that he set right next to my mother.  From the raised eyebrow and sudden twinkle in her eyes, I would bet anything they were cheese buns.

“Remember what?” he said as he kissed my forehead before setting the box carefully on the counter.

“Well, I was telling mom all about World War II the other day.”   I ran the water through the potatoes in the strainer when I looked over at her, catching the grim set of her lips. She’d remembered our discussion well – the invasions, the alliances, and the Holocaust in particular, after which she said she didn’t want to hear anymore.

“Willow…” my father said in a warning tone.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell you about the camps anymore. But do you know that your birthday falls on the same day as the official end of World War II in Old Europe?”  I said excitedly.  “In fact, it was a National Holiday in most countries until the time of The Dark Days.”

“Really?” Mom said, her grey eyes bright with curiosity almost despite herself.

“Yeah!  It was the beginning of the age of The Great Democracies.  Mom, your birthday was synonymous with the end of terror and the beginning of reconstruction and freedom.” I purposefully imitated Mr. Lowel’s nasally accent as he made this grand statements about great moments in history.   My mother chuckled even though she did not like that I made fun of my teachers.  

“We didn’t have those lessons in school, right Katniss?” My dad said, looking meaningfully at her.

She snorted in disgust.  “Not at all. We were barely taught to read, write and count before we were sent off to the mines or the Arenas.  We didn’t even know other countries or people existed outside of Panem.”  The mood suddenly changed in the kitchen and she became serious.

“We never learn, do we?” she whispered, at which point Dad came to stand next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder.  “Peeta,” she said something quietly in his ear, at which he nodded before he kissed her gently on the cheek.  I watched with no small awe and a sudden intimation of what this all might mean to them.

“It must have been hard.” I said, wishing suddenly that I could pull all my stupid words back into my mouth.

“Please, Willow…” she said, waving her hand in front of her as if to sweep away whatever was causing her increased unhappiness.

“I won’t push you, mom.  I know that you don’t want to talk about it and I respect that. But I know everything.   Not just what’s in the Memory book, either,” I said, drying my hands to stand on the other side of her as she looked at me with furrowed brows.  “I’ve read everything I could find about the Hunger Games and the Revolution.  I know more than that guy on the History Today Show!” Now it was my father who stared at me, studying me with his wonderful blue eyes as I spoke.  “I don’t know why you hide it like it’s a dirty secret.”

“We don’t want to scare you,” he said.

“I’m not scared.  I mean, it is scary, I won’t lie about that.  But I am so proud that you are my parents, that you did so much so that all of us could live well.”  My mom began to cry softly when I said this and it broke my heart, because my mother had cried enough in her life.   “You shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are or what you did, even the things you thought were not that noble.  War sucks.  But you survived it and life is a whole lot better because of it.”

“For now!” she burst out in half laugh, half sob.  “Because people never really learn,” she said miserably.

“At this moment, it seems we’re okay.  That’s all we can worry about.” I looked to dad, who was smiling proudly at me.

“You’re right, little bird,” he said, pulling me into a hug.  “How did you get so smart?”

“I was always smart!” I said, laughing with embarrassment at the intensity of the passing moment and of my passionate words.

My mother gripped my hand.  “Thank you,” she said before kissing my cheek.

“For what?” I asked.

“You’ve given me the best birthday present I could have ever ask for,” she said this as she wiped away her tears.  Straightening up, she took a deep breath before picking up a pan from the counter.“Rye will be home in a bit.  Can we agree not to tell him about this?”

I nodded, looking to my father for confirmation before speaking.  “But one day, he has to know. And when it’s time, I’ll help him understand in a way that won’t scare him.”

My father smiled again.  “Because we have the book.  And each other.  We’ll make him understand in a way that will make him brave.”

 

 

 


End file.
